


Xanadu It Wasn't

by TarnishedArmour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A/U, F/M, NOT KIDDING about the A/U, Very A/U
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TarnishedArmour/pseuds/TarnishedArmour
Summary: Once upon a time, at a little site known as Granger Enchanged, there were no fics that began with the letter X.  Until this one.  Not sure if that holds true for HG fics on AO3, but it was true on GE.Oh, there's also something about Coleridge's "Xanadu" and cramming as many allusions into a fic as possible without actually hitting readers over the head with the bat labelled "allusions".But really, when you get to it, it's all about the letter X.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Xanadu It Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely AuntieL, who beta'd pretty much everything HP fic that I've posted (except the later chapters of When Events Conspire), and, if it was posted there, she beta'd it. Except for one - and I can never remember which one. Or find my notes about it. But that's beside the point. On to the fic and the letter X...

Xanadu, it wasn't. Oh, it was a lovely old place, with luxurious gardens and fountains, house elves and antiques, two huge libraries and a bedroom that would make a courtesan purr. Still, _something_ was missing.

Perhaps that missing element was the sound of children running around and laughing, like Harry and Ginny had in Godric's Hollow, music from the wireless nearly drowned out by the sound of little feet. Maybe not. She'd never really wanted children.

Perhaps it was the power of never-ending love that she'd felt for so long at the Burrow. Then again, she did enjoy some peace and quiet, at least as more than the anticipatory silence before all hell was unleashed (and promptly terrorized into going back for some peace and quiet) by the twins and the dozen or so children, with at least three pregnant wives hovering and shrieking about not waking the babies in the background.

Perhaps it was simply that she was bored by work, so everything else lost a bit of its glow, too. She needed...something. She wanted work to fascinate her, to take her to depths plumbed only by the most bold. She wanted to drink the milk of paradise and absorb every erg of magic into her skin, only to let it out again, eyes flashing and wand waving and singing spells out like sacred song into the courtroom. Instead, she was stuck filling out forms and filing briefs for the consideration of the judges.

Most likely - and she didn't want to admit it, even to herself - she was simply lonely.

She had a huge home, a bed made for sinning incessantly, but no one shared it with her. Damned inconvenient, that.

Even the statue of the woman in the pleasure-garden out back had a lover she was calling. Every sixty-nine hours, said woman got laid by her lover, a demonic statue which usually haunted the Little Wood. Hermione got to watch the display regularly. Her statues had a better sex life than she did.

Who did Hermione have? A handful of house elves and a decrepit familiar, none of which could relieve the itch she desperately needed scratched. Scratching her own itch just wasn't working anymore.

So she needed a lover to perfect her home. Maybe not a husband, as those tended to be higher maintenance, but a lover who would make her scream and then go home, not nag her about the hours she worked and wonder whether it was time to replace the milk when all he'd have to do is check the fucking date on the carton himself.

With a sigh, Hermione picked up the latest edition of _Estate Life,_ the wizarding version of the obscenely wealthy's _Better Homes and Gardens._ She was obscenely wealthy because she had been given a choice with her Order of Merlin, First Class: take a cash reward or assume responsibility for an estate that had been abandoned due to the death of the owners line. The dead owners had to have been Death Eaters, and it was best if one chose a wealthy estate to legally claim, so she did just that. And my, had they been wealthy!

With a malicious little smile, Hermione had chosen the Lestrange estate and in Cornwall and the three accompanying Gringott's vaults belonging to Rodolphus, Bellatrix, and Rabastan. She had to admit, the taste of the Lestranges, when it came to comfort, left nothing wanting. Except a hot man between her legs. If only the estate had come equipped with a stable of wicked Wizards, trained to please the lady of manor...

Amused with her thoughts, Hermione glanced through the magazine, and her eyes were arrested by a small, discreet advertisement on page 72.

She smiled, realizing she could write in and order up exactly the kind of lover she was in the mood for.

Today, she wanted to feel rough hands skimming over her skin, a mouth large enough to stimulate more than just the peaks of her nipples, and a nice, heavy, thick cock that would help her remember she was more than a walking reference library. She was also a woman who needed a good, hard fucking.

Preferably more than one of said good, hard fuckings. Yes, the wizard had to have endurance. As she checked off the traits of her ideal lover, she didn't notice one of the Lestrange wives' family portraits begin to grow.

She was busy listing off her desired traits: laughs easily, but not at stupid things; intelligent; incredibly sexy; good in bed, and not just for sleeping; wealthy in his own right, since she'd no desire to be a honey-mama; wicked with a wand, and this time she really did mean the wooden stick used for spellcasting; wicked with his wand, and this time she didn't; tall, dark, and sinful; lips that were made to kiss and suck on her clit; and no desire to be a proper husband, just one hell of an on-call shag.

"Oh, and he must have a perfect, thick, long cock," she finished with a deliberately hard k, smirking at her requirements for a lover. She tossed the magazine down on the table and closed her eyes.

"What in bloody hell?" came a voice she had never expected to hear again.

Hermione turned, saw Sirius Black stepping out of his cousin's pre-nuptial portrait, and felt her jaw drop.

"Huh. The Lestrange place." He looked around, then over at her. He didn't recognize her at first. "And you must be...not a Lestrange." He paused, stared at her. "Hermione?"

"What...how...why....where...when..." She didn't even manage to punctuate five of the eight basic question words with the obligatory and obvious question mark because her voice just quit from surprise.

"Who, to what degree, and how often?" he teased, grinning at her. He seemed very healthy and happy. For a dead man. She looked him over. Not so dead after all. And quite lovely...and was that a wand in his trousers, or - nope. Wands don't twitch. He _was_ happy to see her, then. Well, from the feel of things between her thighs, she was slick with happy-to-see-him, too.

"Well, in order: back from the dead, have no idea, because I am, the Lestrange House rear parlour, just now, me - Sirius Lothario Black, permanently and irrevocably, and only once, love. You're stuck with me - no returns." His smile was more than pleased. He was leering at her.

Hermione stared at him and an awful thought occurred to her.

There wasn't any kind of billing address on that advertisement. She had done this, by wishing for the perfect wizard. Her inner monologue was stuck on monosyllables.

_Well, fuck. No, wait, that was the point. Yay! Fuck!_

She shook her head to clear it and managed to say, "Well, do you know what I was wishing for when you got brought back...through the portrait, was it?"

"Yes, and no. The Lestranges like for us to be able to move around in our portraits, but they weren't inclined to listen, so they had us all silenced. We started ignoring them after a while, and generally just visited in the In-Law's Gallery. Huh. Must have moved the Gallery." He grinned. "So, that wish. Was it for a living, breathing example of masculine perfection, love?"

"No," Hermione smirked. "The perfect lover with the perfect cock.”  
A huge smile bloomed on his ever-so-clitworthy lips. "Well, then, it looks like I've come to the right parlour. How do you like it, love? Face-to-face or from behind? You're not going to get to be on top, not until you're a good girl and show me what you've got for staying power." He stepped forward and whispered into her ear. "Now, let's get you naked and we'll start with a good tongue lashing. If you come before I give you permission, I'll spank you until you can't sit for a week. Do you understand me?"

Hermione nodded, mouth dry, thighs now coated with want. Oh, _hell yes,_ she understood. She was ready. She had been ready for...longer than she cared to admit, even in the privacy of her own head. Her fingers were flying down her buttons, and she was panting by the time she reached her skirt.

"Oh, you are hard up for a shag, aren't you?" Sirius smirked at her, already naked - the formal kind of robes he'd been wearing in the portrait were usually worn over bare skin - and stroking the most gorgeous cock she'd ever seen.

Three seconds later, she was on her back, Sirius's head was between her thighs, and she was groaning with how much she had _needed_ to fucking feel this again. She wasn't going to take long, and Sirius was feeling generous, given he had just been chucked out of the Veil through a portrait of the Black family with Bellatrix sitting high-and-haughty in the centre of the frame. (In fact, all of the portraits were interested in the comings, not the goings - nobody was going anywhere for the time being! - of the couple in front of them, but neither Hermione nor Sirius noticed. They were busy.) He let her come quickly once, growling the order at her before doing something with his teeth and tongue that made her see stars.

Before she had come down good, he was pushing into her with that perfect cock and she was moaning even louder.

"That's a girl, take it all... Like that, don't you, a big Black cock in your quim?" He took her enthusiastic moan as a yes. And then he kept on talking and moving, fucking her brain with his words as perfectly as he fucked her body. After thoroughly fucking her in the parlour, he made her get up and walk up the stairs, pausing halfway to fuck her properly on the staircase, and, once back in the master bedroom that really belonged in a brothel, he made her take him every way she could and then introduced a few new ways, too. One athletically inspired fuck (she'd have to Penseive the memory and step through frame-by-frame to figure out exactly how she'd managed her part of that particular fuck) had her balanced over his shoulder, finishing off on his hand, her mouth on his balls, and finishing him with her hand. When they returned to a relatively horizontal position, she'd even lapped up his cum from his belly like she did his attentions.

At some point, though, she was unable to function physically. Her mental functions had been offline since her second orgasm, and all she'd been able to do was accept commands and get off, for which no thought was required. Not with a wizard like Sirius Black.

Hermione was happy to have finally gotten to try out the acrobatic uses of her huge bed in the room she swore was designed for porno scenes, and, when she could think again, she had to admit that the concealment charms that had been used on the toy chest were very good. Said toy chests were keyed only to the man in this bed, and from what she could tell, being the man in the bed was the only key those charmed lock required. In that room, she had screamed, cried, begged, cursed, whimpered, moaned, shouted, demanded, and come so hard she could barely breathe. And then he had gotten kinky.

"Satisfied, are you?" he asked, smirking at her. She managed a dazed nod. Oh, yes, she was certainly satisfied. "Well, we'll go for round two a little later. Take a nap, love. You're going to need it."

Hermione nodded, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, her bed was empty and there was a little note sitting next to her pillow.

"Requested Wizard: Sirius Lothario Black. Magical expenditure, 1.78 GigaJoules of Magic at 25 TeraFlops of Wand Swishing. Fee assessed: 981, 437 Galleons 13 Sickles, 7 Knuts; payable to Demon McBrugan's Magical Wizarding Stable, 13 Sacred River Road, Bath."

She heard the water in the bathroom shut off and shoved the receipt under her pillow. She'd pay it after she had her second installment from her wizard, who apparently had been bought and paid for.

As he sucked on her lower lip and clamped her hard, distended nipples, she couldn't help but sigh happily.

No, Lestrange House still wasn't Xanadu.

When he flipped her on her hands and knees, she knew she would keep this wizard in her stable, and even let him live here in her house, in her bed. He was her alpha wizard.

But it was a good place to keep a lover, and maybe even a stable of lovers.

Sirius was special, though. She'd always think of him as Alph, her first, best purchase from Sacred River Road.

 _And damn,_ she thought as he pounded into her from behind and her toes curled and her body shook, _but he's worth every Knut!_

**Author's Note:**

> AuntieL actually figured out how much Sirius cost - it was a lot. A LOT. Obscene amount, actually. But it wasn't like he was being summoned from the Outer Hebrides - he was dead. D-E-D, dead. (Yes, I meant to spell it that way.) If he had been simply drinking and wenching at Grimmauld, he would have been much cheaper. And probably less appreciative. As it is, he was really, really expensive...
> 
> ...But worth it.


End file.
